


Drawn Happiness

by BrokenWorld1984



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: And just randomly thought up of this, Bendy needs a hug, But I guess Henry's gonna hug him anyway..., Except Joey, Heck everyone needs a hug, So I was bored, There will be some bickering tho, after he demands an explanation, as to why the toons exist in the first place, but eh what can go wrong?, but yeah hugs!, expect fluff, is he even alive??, stillnotaverygoodfluffwriter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-04 18:10:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13370301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenWorld1984/pseuds/BrokenWorld1984
Summary: Just some kinda-fluffy BATIM one-shots written by that author who has no idea what to write and won't finish her other works to the people's dismay but ANYWAY......yeah. Enjoy!(trash fic but shhhhhh let's not tell anyone)





	1. What Happened?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The toons going about their definitely-not-normal lives, only to find that something... strange... happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Drawn Happiness, a BrokenWorld1984 BATIM work because she felt that Bendy and co. need hugs and happiness!  
>  ~~Eventhoughshestillhasthreeongoingficsatthemomentbutthosewon'tbefinishedanytimesoonsolet'sdropthesubjectnowshhhhhhh~~  
>  Here you will see the painful (not really) progress of me leaning to write fluff (because this is my first time writing such a thing) and me being totally informal at times because why not?  
> Well, anyway, enjoy!

Bendy had not remembered everything that had happened. All he knew was that one minute he was 8 feet tall, lurking about Heavenly Toys, hunting down the Creator, the human who had escaped him more times than he could count, and the next he was out like a light. When he woke up, his hearing was going in and out. Where... where was he again? Then it came back, one by one. He remembered the Creator, and felt a need to get to him, to catch him. He was tired of playing around. The weirdness of his hearing faded away. He was in Heavenly Toys, checking on his cutouts. Any when he realized what he had been doing, Bendy felt... almost offended that he allowed himself to pass out in such a wide area, smack-dab in the middle of the room, too. He'd kill anyone who even glanced at him sprawled out there... if anyone had seen, that is. He blinked his eyes once, twice, and then--  
wait, he could _blink_???  
What happened to the sting of the ink constantly covering almost all of his face? Had he finally, _finally_ gotten so used to the darn stuff he could open his eyes again? Weird.

But that aside, everything looked... bigger. Either the studio itself was growing (which was silly, he knew. Buildings can't grow.), or he had shrunk. He was the same size as the cutouts scattered about the place. He had gotten smaller. He walked around, trying to figure out how this crazy turn in events had come to happen before he stopped in his tracks. He took a few steps again, then laughed, his whistley laugh like in the cartoon (which made sense; he didn't have a voice actor and only had those comical sounds as a 'voice') , but unmistakably the kind of laugh that had disbelief and elation in it's tone, the kind that filled you with pure joy. He no longer limped. All of his limbs matched with it's partner. He was on-model. Bendy laughed again, louder as tears of joy filled his perfect pie-cut eyes, and he laughed and cried, his gales echoing through the large room.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

Remember where you had seen her face to face for the second time, dear Creator? You know, the room where you went on a 'date' with the Angel? If you remember correctly, you should've seen a door to your left. You dismissed that fact, focusing more on what the one just barely resembling the gal on the posters was saying. That door led to her private quarters.

It wasn't much, really. Just one of those cots (like the one in the Safehouse) in the corner, a vanity (which consisted of nothing more than an animating desk, a mirror the size of a sheet of paper, a bowl full of the extra thick ink Henry brought earlier, and an Alice Angel plushie), a chair in front of said vanity, a cutout of herself in the other corner, and the Sent From Above poster opposite of the 'bed'. She would apply the ink he sent to the more... corrupted side of her face later. For now, she waited for her little errand boy to _stop dilly-dallying_ and bring her power cores. She stood up to go to her control panel (which controlled the elevator, the electricity for the operating table where a Charley clone once lay, and doubled as a PA system. Not far from the panel lay the chute where the collected items and equipment ended up. Not so long ago, her panel was failing her, and shee needed spare parts; Henry had gotten it after some time had passed. When she realized her corruption was spreading, she needed the think ink, and he had gotten it as well. But what was taking him so long for him to get the damn power cores? Soon her area would be darker than the Inky Abyss if he didn't hurry! Before she could turn on the microphone and demand that her errand boy work faster, in the most unladylike fashion imaginable, she fainted.

When she came to, the ache in her skull was gone (her halo being the cause of it, but removing it would be no easy task, so she endured the pain), and everything felt... better. Alice's hands flew up to her face to feel for any abnormalities, and found none. Then she looked at her hands: White gloves with a hole in the middle of the palm was what she saw. Nearly hyperventilating at this point, she rushed to her room and stared at her reflection in the mirror, grinning uncontrollably. The perfect face of Alice Angel stared back.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The mutilated Charley wandered Level K, pipe in hand. Wandering around, the pain in his head both receding and becoming more prominent, he felt like he lad no other purpose other than to wander, limping, searching for his- everyone's- Creator. But when he had come close to reaching out for him, something inside him snapped. Next thing he knew, he would be charging after the human, begging for him to end his miserable existence, yet at the same time, some primal instinct of his kicked in, telling him to swing his pipe at the human, hurt it before it hurt him or the others. But all of his attacks missed, and the Creator managed to get into a nearby Little Miracle Station. The Angel got _furious_ whenever any of them even touched them for some reason, and he didn't want to suffer the same fate as the other clones of his good buddies and other clones of himself, so he stayed away. Part of Charley wondered how Barley and Edgar were faring. He had been with them, like any gang leader worth his salt would be doing, before word that the Creator was here. Then they decided it was best to split up; Barley patrolling Level 11, Edgar watching out on Level P, and himself on Level K. But then he felt weird. He had known that the Ink Demon had the ability to erase creatures such as him just by entering a room. Was this how it felt? Before he could think any more, he felt himself pulled into unconsciousness.

When Charley managed to open his eyes...  
Wait a minute. He wasn't able to close them in the first place (how he slept was a mystery to even him). He closed and opened them again, and felt no pain. He examined the rest of his body. His left arm was back. Back! And his plunger of a peg leg was his proper right leg, perfect down to the dent in the sole! He laughed, and realized something even better: his voice was no longer garbled and distorted.

Exactly 2 seconds after Charley had gotten over his laughing fit, he realized he just had to check on the other two Butchers. But by the time he dashed to the lift area, managed to open the door to the stairway and race down to Level 11, he collided with two forms making their way upstairs, nearly making the smaller tumble back down before the other caught it. When the Butcher Gang's leader stood up, he found himself gaping at Barley and Edgar, no longer horrific and miserable. Barley's head was attached not to a fishing pole, but his real neck, and his pipe was where Charley knew it would be: bit in Barley's mouth, which looked more like the Barley in the poster. Edgar's left hands were separate, giving him his six limbs again, and the stitches crisscrossing his lips were gone as well. Both had their eyes restored to the usual pie-cut style. After a moment of awkward silence spent staring at each other, Barley gathered enough courage to break the silence.  
"Yar, ye pirate's cold."  
The inside joke sent all three of them into stitches.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_"We've all been waiting... but now... he will set. Us. **Free**._

What remained of was was left of Sammy Lawrence now resided in the pipes that lined the walls and ceiling of the studio. Pipes full of the ink, some leaking badly,  
some completely burst, but the term "buzzing, screaming well of voices" (as the Angel put it) was probably the most accurate description of the place. Voices he recognized, some were just plain gibberish,  
but voices nonetheless. It nearly drove him insane (or in more fitting words, more insane than he already was). His lord had put him in here for a reason he could not understand. Had he not done the ritual right? Sammy was sure he drew the pentagram exactly as it should be. He was so close, so _close_ to achieving freedom from the ink that corrupted him. But he knew better than to further anger the Ink Demon. By now, he would to anything to be free of this abyss of a body. He was not thinking straight. Bendy would set him right again, no need to speed up the process. He would be human, not the dripping form he was an hour ago, and not one of several voices that the ink contained.

But then what?

Sammy found himself thinking about the last time he had even been... himself. What he used to be. Now he spent his days singing odes to Bendy, thinking of the day he would be normal again. What had he done before, when he was still untouched by the ink, he did not know. Before he could ponder further despite the screams and pleas for help, Sammy was pulled (not physically; it just felt like he was being pulled) out of the ink, back into the studio. Back to the inky body he had been occupying for hell knows how long.

When he looked at his hands, they were the color of a normal human being's. He looked around the room he was in: nothing but a chair and a Little Devil Darling poster in the corner, no other people with him, not even a Searcher. When he made sure that he was alone, he did something that the real, human, not-made-of-ink Sammy Lawrence rarely did: He smiled, almost from ear to ear, all while still trying to wrap his head around this incredible news.

It appears he's been set free a lot earlier than he expected.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Projectionist wandered Level 14 (or as some called it, the Inky Abyss), like he always did. He did not know how exactly he got here, or why he felt so much hate, or what he knew at all about the studio above. He felt hatred towards a word... Yet... He did not know entirely what it meant. The word was 'drew'. He would think of that, and he would screech into the emptiness. But there was nothing he could do, he was stuck here with no way out.

One of the only things that kept the Projectionist busy (aside from lumbering around) were the projectors. The reels here were tampered with in some way, such that certain scenes of the damn cartoon (Tombstone Picnic, the title was; the first toon ever made since... someone... someone important left) kept looping over and over and over again. Whether they made sounds or not was unknown to him, but when he noticed that creatures were _ruining_ the reels and projectors... fury swelled up inside him. He would get rid of the nuisance and fix whatever problem the thing caused. It was the only thing he could do. Then he realized that sometime earlier, he'd went to the foot of the staircase leading to an elevator and sat down, something he rarely did. Before he realized what was happening, the light coming out of his projector flickered and faded.

When he awoke, the area was cast in darkness. This scared him, because his projector not only doubled as his eyes, but a sort of flashlight as well. He made a strangled cry, and made another as he realized the sound was human. _He_ was human. He looked at himself. Still wearing the same formerly-white long-sleeved blouse, ink-stained overalls and boots. And even though Level 14 was dark, Norman's vision seemed to brighten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you guys can probably tell (or maybe you can't), I had fun making this! And another thing, I'll admit, the Butcher Gang (more specifically Charley's) scene was my favorite, especially the last two lines of that scene.
> 
> I need to make some stuff clear before we continue on with the fic.
> 
> First on the list: Why Alice is the real Alice Angel and not Susie/Allison and why Sammy and Norman/Projectionist are humans and not part-toons.
> 
> Like Bendy and Boris, Alice was made only with blood sacrifices. According to the ritual, in simple words, the blood had to be from the person/people who were most connected to the toon. Joey used his blood and Henry's blood to make Bendy, Henry's blood was used to make Boris, and Susie and Allison's blood for Alice. The ritual also stated that that the blood used would cause the new lifeform to take after some characteristics of the person/s whose blood was used. In Bendy's case, it's was Joey's hatred and Henry's determination, for Boris, it was Henry's timidness, and for Alice, it was Susie's ambition and the two women's voices.  
> In the cases of Sammy and Norman, they were the two (and hopefully only) people used after Joey got tired of plain ol' blood rituals. Sammy got turned into more than a Searcher, but less than his former self because he got too suspicious of Drew's... 'activities', and Norman got turned into an deaf, inky human with a projector for a head because he was there, listening to and seeing things he didn't need to hear or see.
> 
> Second: Why Bendy can't talk and other speech-related stuff.
> 
> Since the Machine used the cartoons as a base of their looks, behaviors, and voices, Bendy doesn't have much of a voice (as shown in Tombstone Picnic, where Bendy only whistles for laughing). Boris can talk (evidenced in Haunted Hijinx), but doesn't do it very often. Alice, of course, can talk just fine. As for the Butcher Gang, they're in the same situation as Boris: Can talk, but doesn't want to much. Sammy and Norman can talk (obviously), but since Norman spent heck knows how long being a monster with a projector for a head, he still needs to get used to being able to talk again.
> 
> Also, ummm... Shout-out to Star_Going_Supernova for making those BATIM fics that somehow make me cry and all warm inside and in some way inspired me to jump into making this! 
> 
> Next chapter: Henry and Boris make their appearance!


	2. He Set Us Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Henry and Boris chapter, as promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so another thing I just thought up of:  
> Henry's height is 5'4".  
> Boris is 5'6".  
> Bendy is 4'8".  
> Alice is 5'1".  
> Sammy is 5'5".  
> Norman is 5'6".  
> Just some height references. But anyway...
> 
> *le GASP* HOLY WHACKAMOLEY I think I just did a decent Norman and Sammy! I mean, I think... Tell me if I did a good job writing them or bleh in the comments! I need your opinions!

"Alright, buddy. You doing good over there?" Henry asked Boris while working on the Ink Machine. The wolf in question gave a thumbs up from the other side of the contraption, wrench in one hand. He knew his Creators plan was a little reckless. Try and fix the Machine and make things right? Doable, but a little difficult. Escaping the Angel on the excuse of her errands? Boris' knees shook when Henry told him his plan. She would be livid. But would it be worth it? Maybe... The Machine ran partly on actual machinery, and partly on a ritual. The ritual brought things to life, and the machinery kept it going. If Henry, with what little knowledge he had, could somehow correct the ritual and fix the life it created, then things wouldn't be so bad anymore. Lucky for him, Boris found a copy of The Illusion of Living, which showed the exact ritual and how it was done correctly.

First, though, Henry and Boris needed to make sure that the Machine was in good condition. They didn't want it breaking down while they tried to make things right. Especially since it had caused several pipes in this part of the studio to burst. But the ink flooding the place was the least of their worries right now. Taking out a few gears, replacing them, and tightening whatever needed to be tightened, Boris worked, a toolbox by his side. Then, following the pattern from the book, hoping that Joey hadn't screwed up in drawing it, Henry painstakingly made the pentagram, copying every miniscule bit as best as he could. Then he chanted the words, making sure he didn't stutter or mumble anything. A bright light flashed, and Henry was knocked out cold for the fourth time since he came to the studio.

When Henry awoke, Boris was still unconscious. "Boris...! Boris, you alright, buddy?" He gently shook the wolf's shoulders. No response. He wasn't... wasn't... Henry couldn't bring himself to say it. Before he could, though, Boris' head bobbed, then his eyes opened blearily, as if he had merely fallen asleep. Overcome with relief that his friend was ok, Henry hugged him for a second, then let go, a smile on his face. "Now let's see if it worked, shall we?" he said, helping Boris up.

As soon as Henry and Boris went down the stairs that led to Utility Shaft 9, they collided with a black blur that gripped Henry's shirt and refused to let go. _A Searcher?_ was Henry's first thought, before he realized that it was too fast to be one. The figure looked up, grinning widely, and in that instant, he knew the ritual had worked. This was the Bendy that he knew and loved. When the little demon finally let go of his death-grip on Henry, he turned towards the other toon and let out a small squeak. Without hesitating, Boris kneeled down and spread his arms, happy to have his pal back. The reunion was a happy one, and when they were on the move again, Bendy had his right hand held by Boris, and his left by his Creator.

\-------------------------------------------------------------  
Meanwhile, Alice had things to do. She was perfect now, and the pure joy of that soon became a grin when she became more under control. She took one last look at the hallway leading to her former lair, and for the first time in a long time, Alice ventured out. She did not know who her Creator was exactly, but the feeling of him being here was very strong. She headed towards the lift, intending to go to Level K, when it came up with another human inside. Not her Creator. She nearly panicked. _Oh no what if it's a creature from the ink going to pull me back into the dark and then I'll never be perfect again no this can't be happening--_  
Before she could scream, however, the person stepped out of the elevator and looked down to her. "You okay, missy?" He had a Southern accent in his voice, weak from disuse, but still evident. Feeling that she could trust this person, Alice nodded. "Wh-where did you come from?" She asked, a hint of fear in her voice. "Level 14. Heck knows how long I've been there, but I won't be goin' back there anytime soon, that's fer sure." Alice nodded, wondering how long he's been down there with the Projectioni--  
wait. There _were_ no other people aside from the Projectionist down there. At least, no living ones. That only left... him. "M'name's Norman Polk, by the way," he added. "Are you the... the Projectionist?"  
"Was. Not anymore, miss... what's your name?"  
"Alice. A-Alice Angel." She said, her hands behind her back.  
"Thought you looked familiar from somewhere... Bein' an ink monster messes with your brain, I guess." Alice laughed a little at that. "Where you headed, Norman?"

"I don't exactly know yet... I was goin' to check every floor starting here, but it don't exactly look like there are any exits here." Alice shook her head, then thought for a while. Then she snapped her fingers. How did she not realize it earlier? "We go up. There's a floor that leads to the Music Department."

\-------------------------------------------------------------

While Alice and Norman got acquainted with each other, the Butcher Gang had their own stuff to do. Well... not exactly. None of them knew where to get out, since the lift was as forbidden to touch as the Little Miracle Stations. They wandered around the stairs, before stopping at Level 9, hearing voices. Edgar, being the impulsive little guy, broke away from the group and went for the door as possible, Charley and Barley frantically trying to stop him. Unfortunately, Charley slipped on a puddle of ink that Edgar had leaped over and crashed into the toon, pushing the door open with a loud **BANG!** , Barley standing behind them with an are-you-serious look. Norman and Alice shared almost identical startled reactions. A moment of silence passed, and Edgar grinned, his fangs showing, as if saying _Did we walk in on anything? Don't look at me, I'm completely innocent!_. Then all five of them burst into laughter.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

As Henry, Boris, and Bendy ventured through the Music Department, they heard faint singing, a song Henry knew all too well:  
_Sheep, sheep, sheep, it's time for sleep._  
_Rest your head; it's time for bed._  
_In the morning, you may wake._  
_Or in the morning... You'll be dead._  
All three of them stood and watched as Sammy Lawrence, the real Sammy, stepped out of his office. When the man made eye contact with Bendy and Boris, his eyes widened. The little demon seemed just as surprised to see him, but made no move to attack him. "You'd think that when you finally become human again, the madness would leave you in an instant. Boy, was I wrong... I've been crazy enough for too long now..." the music director muttered, grinning a bit. "You must be Henry," he said, looking at him. "Thankfully, I remember that now. Do you mind if I ask a question?"  
"You already did." Henry remarked, smiling himself now. Sammy pretended to punch him, causing Bendy to step protectively in front of his Creator, despite his size. "Don't worry, bud. He's just joking," Henry reassured him, then looked back at Sammy. "What were you going to say again, Sammy?"  
"Right. What the _hell_ just happened? Last thing I recall, I was a glob of ink in a pipe heck-knows-where."  
"If I told you, you probably wouldn't believe me. It was a little weird." Henry said. "Tell me anyway. I've been turned into an ink monster, worshipped cartoons as said ink monster, tried to sacrifice you to a demon, and nearly obliterated from physical existence by said demon. At this point, it would take a lot more to make me disbelieve something." Sammy replied. "You've got me there. Long story short, Boris and I found a staircase leading to the main studio and we fixed up the Ink Machine with some elbow grease and a ritual."


End file.
